


Tales from the Underground

by TheTwistingBunny



Category: Undertale
Genre: F/F, F/M, Just figured I'd share the stuff!, M/M, Other, Please enjoy it!, We got all kinds of things in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistingBunny/pseuds/TheTwistingBunny
Summary: A smattering of drabbles, short stories and other assorted bits of fiction for Undertale.





	1. Black Rain, Friendship Start!

“For all the things I am programmed to do. Was I ever given a protocol to love?”

“Sometimes...I don’t quite feel like myself.” The Android uttered softly. Splayed across the plush expanse of a magenta chaise lounge. He was in the privacy of his own room yes, but he still felt… /exposed/ somehow. Sending an unusually...vulnerable glance off to the side. One metallic arm sliding over his eyes as a metallic sigh found its way out of his synthetic lungs.  
“Every moment I am not performing...I spend looking out there.” The heavy pink curtains had been thrown open. Allowing the deep red glow of Hotland to seep in. It was an unusually “cloudy” day today. Flecks of dark ash drifted listlessly on the hot air, falling slowly. Slowly. Slowly onto the scorching ground.   
“I hate it when it rains Darling. It’s...not like it is back in Waterfall-.”

He shifts slowly, seeming all at once to slowly curl up on himself. Not fully, but certainly enough to close off his posture for once. Rather than being so lax and open. “I’m getting off topic. Sorry.”

 

Did he just apologize?

“I love my job. I love everything I have achieved. I’ve done so much in so little time. But I feel as though I have missed something. Something integral to simply living.” A rather bitter sounding chuckle manages to wrestle its way out of his throat. Rather than that heartless cackle that came when he did something particularly nefarious. 

“I feel like I am running from something.” For but a moment his voice seems to crack mid sentence. But it is quickly stifled and he sits up. Dabbing at the corner of his eye, crossing one leg over the other. There comes that dazzling grin once again.  
“But enough about that. Sweet’ums. I’d like to hear something about /you/.”

___________________________________

“If I showed you, the stitches that hold me together… Would you still look at me the way you do?” He seems more relaxed this time. Not so stiff, not trying so hard to seem as though this was the most leisurely affair in the world. This time he was sitting in the corner of his favorite lounge, knees pressed close to his chest. Leaning heavily on the armrest with one arm wrapped around his legs. The other fitfully making sure his hair was fine, before returning to simply drumming on the couch.

He fidgets.

“It’s not that I’m...broken or anything.” Mettaton goes on, swallowing briefly. “I’m quite happy! Really darling, so few monsters have what I do.” He looks off to the side again. It is rather unusual, he has been making less and less eye contact since your arrival. “I just-.”

“Well...You know most of what I do IS an act right? I am a robot designed specifically to entertain.” A half smile plays across his face before the frown returns. That was another thing he only did when behind the gilded star door of his personal quarters. “Some monsters don’t realize it or maybe they just don’t care-.” 

He cuts himself off sharply with a shake of his head. “It’s been too long since anybody actually tried to...talk to me. Usually all they want is my autograph.” Those piercing eyes close for a moment.   
“I don’t mean to ramble on so much. Please, tell me more about you...Where you come from, what sort of things have you done?” He doesn’t sit up quite so straight this time.

 

___________________________________

“Do you...ever feel like you’ve made a mistake? But it's gone too far to try and fix it?” This time, his words come entirely unexpectedly. It had been a perfectly normal evening, sitting across from one another over a fancy table. Equally fancy food, something even above the restaurant downstairs. He had been picking at his microlattice tart for the last several minutes. Hadn’t even plucked the washer from the foam sealant decorating the top.

Of course this time he’d made sure they brought something more...Palatable for his guest.  
“I’ve put a lot of….distance between where I’ve come from and where I am now.” The fork presses at the edge, but doesn’t go through. He doesn’t have much of an appetite from the looks of things. No eye contact at all this time, and the frown stays firmly in place.  
“Sometimes I wish...it had been different.”

“I just thought, that if I became someone /else/…” He sets the fork down completely, managing a weak smile before scooting his chair back. Away from the table. “Excuse me for a moment darling, I need to- go powder my nose.” 

He at least gives you thirty minutes longer before the upper level Security escorts you out once again.

___________________________________

One of the stitches, finally revealed itself. Perhaps rather unintentionally. In a strange move, Mettaton had requested you sit beside him. He didn’t lean on his guest or anything, no. He simply sat there, poised against the arm rest with his chin in one hand.   
“I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“But...this is harder than it looks.” His voice was quiet, lacking that grand and boisterous tone it usually had when he was announcing the goings on of the day. In fact it was so soft, there was just the subtlest hint of static.   
“I’ve been doing this for a while. Longer than most would have thought I could.” It was true, he was the one and only star of the Underground after all. The spark that gave so many monsters Hope.

“I’ve thought about it.” He sits up just straight enough to be polite and enunciate properly. “I wish-. There was more competition. But-” Did he just scoot a tiny bit closer? Maybe. Hard to tell. “I know I have a /bad/ habit of crushing it… Before it even develops a shell.”   
So true. But this was possibly the longest he had gone on, without fleeing the scene.

“But, Darling you have been a blessing. Just...being here! Thank you.” Oh he was getting off topic again-. But he stops himself amazingly, and doesn’t run off. 

Can robots cry?

There seemed to be some sort of leak at the corner of his eyes, but he looks off again. So it couldn’t be seen.  
“The next rival that comes along. I’ll give them enough leeway to challenge me. /Whenever/ they appear.”

___________________________________

“I know I’ve kept you here too long.” 

It was “raining” again. The ash floats down heavier than ever before. Almost black with how thickly it coated the ground, choking the air. The biting heat couldn’t be felt inside. But the curtains were open, and the heat waves could be seen in the distance. The brightness of the C.O.R.E gave everything a.../hellish/ red glow.

“I know you have to go.” Your hand was released. He had been holding it in both of his own for several minutes in total silence. Seemingly searching for words that simply hadn’t come to him until just now.   
“I won’t stop you. But- I just wanted to say...Thank you again. For listening.”

His posture was back to its original stiffness. One leg over the other, hands clasping each other neatly. A little smirk on his face, despite the...sadness present in those eyes. He was doing all that he could to smile.   
“Knock them dead Darling. I-. Please. Come back to visit me someday. I believe the Underground will feel so much bigger without you here.”

“But I know when it is time to say good bye.” At last he stands, a dizzying height as always. Making a slow gesture towards the door.

“You’ve got other places to see. But, remember you are /always/ welcome here.”

The door was locked, just as soon as it closed behind you. But beyond it, Silence.


	2. A Happy Ending: Glitzy Dystopia

The crowd cheered, their adulation and reverence filled him with a brilliant sense of Fulfilment.  
He had finally done it, he was the STAR of the Underground. In every sense of the world. He was the only one left “fit” to rule. The coronation went swimmingly, inheriting the golden crown of the King. The throne, the palace. He had it /ALL/ and then some. His first acts were wholly benevolent. Distributing merchandise and good cheer to every monster underneath him.

His days were spent on his balcony, waving to his adoring public.

But as time wore on, he found being King was more work than he had originally bargained for. It was...Pesky to say the least. There was always some kind of conflict, something that needed resolving, repairing- On and on and on. Then the detractors came in, the monsters who didn’t think he should be sprawled across the throne. Legs over one armrest, his shoulders against the other. Often looking at the synthetic nails on his fingers. He listened as best he could.

Although, ultimately he decided to call upon none other than the Royal Scientist. Or as he knew her, Alphys. His dear, faithful creator who had given him the personality chips in order to take the underground by storm.  
Now she would help him do it again.

It wasn’t hard to convince her.

All it took was a few adjustments to the broadcast network, with enough ribbing and “coercement” she gave him exactly what he wanted. That day, every monster who tuned into his evening report of the day’s progress found their opinion of the King improve significantly. There was a rush of encouragement for everyone to watch.

By the end of the month, things had quieted down. He was pleased. Oh yes, and when the King was happy he wanted everyone to be happy too! They would never need to leave the Underground if they were pleased with how things were down here. His agents, faithful advisors as they were took to the plan immediately. Or at least one of them did, after all it seemed harmless enough. Again Alphys was called upon, there was even less trouble with her this time, three versus one tended to shut down even the most heated arguments.

Soon every face was illuminated by the glow of their television and the brightest smile they could muster. The show was a hit! Ratings skyrocketed and the political charge plummeted once again. This was working beautifully! The crowd that once protested outside his gates had thinned out to a few, unremarkable rabble. But they were stubborn, and no amount of merchandise or encouragement from their fellow monsters would remove them from the street.  
They couldn’t just let /that/ go on now could they? The signs were making everyone uncomfortable.

Both agents stuck to him like glue now, they seemed...Unsettled by their orders. At least at first, the orange agent came around to the idea after a few hours of a PSA Special. Explaining just what it was the King wanted to do. The blue one? Well, he was a follower all the way to the end. He willingly sat down to watch it, without popcorn even. What a trooper! He definitely got a pat on the head for that one. The King was just so pleased with him!

But those stubborn uglies were much harder to convince.

In fact they had developed a nasty habit of destroying royal property. Obstructing the construction of his billboards. It was modernization! It was art! They had no right to do that. Nobody had the right to deny him. He was King, he ruled Everything.

Some monsters just looked better in blindfolds than others.

Some looked better tied to posts. Some looked good doing both. In the yard of his palace there stood a few such figures. Proud monsters with such strong opinions they had taken it upon themselves to cry out rather than just sit quietly and allow this revolution of goodness to overtake them. It had to be corrected, there was no doubt about that. Didn’t want them making everyone uncomfortable how did he? No, so this was completely necessary. It was for the good of monsterkind!

“I have tried, time and time again to extend courtesy to you. To make you /see/ the beauty of the world I am creating.” The public works projects, every shop and home covered in glittering pink paint. The statues, glinting with sequins. There would be no inch of the Underground that didn’t know the MTTV brand.  
“But Darlings, I’m afraid my patience has run out. After your recent action, I fear violence is the only thing you understand.”

In his hand a toxic pink drink swirled slowly, taking mild sips from a straw. It was a beautiful day in the Capital. So he had taken the opportunity to sit out on the balcony and attend this event. Which of course he had orchestrated. Not showing up to your own party would be rude. A canape of washers found its way into his mouth to be masticated by perfect teeth.  
“So I believe I’ll… indulge your clear fascination.”

His hand raised, pupils narrowed in fear at the appearance of the dreaded agents. Once a duo of casual clothing, they had been outfitted very sharply with suits these days. Snowdin felt emptier without them, but they were the most important force around. Rattling ivories and the scent of burning ozone. Beams of orange bone pierced flesh, as the yawning maw of hovering beasts began their glowing charge.

Dust floated on the wind when a staccato of screams finally died around piercing bone and burning plasma. The look on their faces had been /priceless/. So rare was a frown these days, let alone the open mouthed scream of pain. 

The King laughed, high and sharp and applauded them.

Alphys was gone.

He had searched high and low for the little lizard. Every inch of Hotland, Waterfall and Snowdin was scoured. Every pair of hands under his command, which by this point was pretty much all of them. Turned over every stone and door, but they couldn’t find her.

What was this sensation? Some degree of regret? Alphys had been his confidante, he had at last completed a regal place for her. Another throne, he had been prepared to keep her by his side as well. Perhaps he should have been more curious when she ceased her awkward chatter about “the laws of robotics” and “morality” or something like that. Retreating further and further into her lab space until they could not find her. 

Which was a shame. Perhaps he hadn’t been the.../best/ to her. But his efforts to make it up to her were totally in vain now. What a bother, how could she be so ungrateful? He had created a world where no one would notice her glaring lack of social graces and at last her confidence could bloom!

But she hadn’t been the same since that fish woman died...What was her name? Hm, he wasn’t sure. But Alphys had talked about her a lot, and described her at length. Looking back on it she had been somewhat gloomy about the subject despite his insistence that he could likely find a thousand fish folk to suit her taste. But, alas, she always turned him down.

Oh well. She left behind plenty of information for him to look over. He didn’t need her.

Probably.

He had done it.

The Underground was a sprawling metropolis of lights, sound /ACTION/. There was no more sleepy little provinces with nothing and noone in them. His agents were loyal, every building a crowning achievement. His throne was illuminated by the luminescent glow of thousands of neon smiles. The darkness banished by the heavy drone of music all day and night. Well technically there wasn’t a night anymore. Only MTTV Burger Emporiums, fashion stores and a self sustaining cycle of glitter in every river. Every day held a show, every set of eyes were on him at all times.

He was beloved, he was complete.

Of course there were times when he remembered a certain little human. The one who made it all possible by removing the roadblocks to his success. Although he couldn’t bring himself to ring them. After all, he /never/ called first. To do so would be a sign of desperation and the King was anything but desperate. He had all the attention he could ever want and then some. With the marching figures of his citizens, the starry bars of the Television imprinted into their eyes for ever more. 

That didn’t stifle the surprise he felt when he caught one of his agents putting out a call to that very same number. The phone was given to him without even having to ask. So his suspicions were quelled immediately, his citizens were free. They could do whatever they wanted within the paradigm of the society he had built with his blood, sweat and tears. 

Although he didn’t actually have any of those things, perks of being a highly advanced Android.

The human could return any time they liked, they would be welcomed with open arms! Although if they did so, well Mettaton wasn’t sure if he could let them leave him again. Their performance on stage had been absolutely dazzling. He wanted to book them as his second act! 

He was sure if they could see his accomplishments down here. They couldn’t Refuse.


	3. It Takes Two to Tango: AraknoTechnophobe

Something was...broken.

The cold steel of the halls burned his composite heart. Kneeling in the wreckage that had once been everything, and everyone he held dear. Breath came in ragged, bloody gasps as spiraling glasses reflected sterile laboratory light. Grin spreading across a scaly face, devious hands clicking together sharply.  
What had he done? Nothing felt right. Shaking hands, not two, but four trembled in the coating of dust that stained the vibrant red a far less pleasant hue. Dulling it down, telling him what he did.

“I-i didn’t want this.” He rasped, voice coming out metallic. Trembling even harder than his hands, falling forward as he tried to rise to his feet. Leaving him on his knees, he /saw/ too much. His field of vision had been expanded beyond his own two eyes- there were more. He smeared dust across his face fitfully as he nearly gouged at the new additions. “What did you /DO/ to me?” 

“I have Improved you!” The Scientist cackled, throwing her arms open with impish glee. “You never would have gotten anywhere with how ugly you were before. But now you are beautiful and ready to take on the World.” She was pleased with herself, every fang exposed in a nearly drooling grin.

Why was this happening? His “stomach” suddenly began to ache, the pulsing hideous lump of a soul floating, trapped under thick glass. It cracked, it fractured, it broke. Shattering against the container it had been forced into. Clawed hands gripped at the cylinder, as each fragment of the shattered essence splintered from itself and floated slowly to the bottom.

Did he die?

“They lie.” 

“As do we all.”

The walls were alive with darkness, crawling, creeping along the stone. Sapping what little heat remained in the burnt out crater that was once the C.O.R.E. The fires had died, and now only embers remained. Ash floats slow and thick through the air. Choking the breath of any monster foolish enough to remain in the exhausted shell of Hotland. It was inhospitable, a bleak wasteland fit only for the hardiest souls. Or more specifically, a SOUL held together by hideous black stitching. 

Created from Nothing by their Mistress, a canvas as grotesque as any. The body made no sense, an empty husk devoid of the trappings of nature. But it walked, it sang, it shrieked. A mockery of reason both physical and mental. This place it inhabited, a pitch dark manor set into the black, ashen rock of a now inactive volcano. Its fallen grandeur made only more tragically splendid by the elegant arches of its walls. Overgrown by dark vines and long dried flowers. Once perhaps it had been a resplendent garden. But now it lay fully in ruin in the shadow of a broken machine, a corrupt lab and endless plains of igneous rock. Cold and dark, as it has been for many years now.

But now, this was their home. A place as desolate and lonely as any. Where no one would find them. Or...him. It was just him now. They were gone. Harvested and fragmented, sewn into the beating horror pulsing weakly in his chassis. Forcing him to live, even on shaking feet, having to use both arms on one side to lean against the rusted gate. One simply wasn’t strong enough anymore.

He was so heavy now. Too many lives, too many thoughts, too much- blood? Did he have blood now? The seeping, carmine fluid that occasionally dripped from his quadruplicate sights, it had a distinct odor he could not place. Somewhere between the scent of vanilla, pustulent rot and oil mixed together.

Mettaton didn’t know what he was anymore.

“Why did this happen?”

“We deserved it.” 

Fire, smoke, blood. Everything poured out in crimson fountains, dripping across the fabric of reality. All he knew was pain. For as long as he had existed, all he saw was the hellish glow of Her operating room. Chest carved open, forcing long fallen organs back into life. To push festering life through his plastic veins. Making every corner of his vision pulse with dark, aching lines. Was it the screams of someone he once knew, or the screams of strangers. Maybe it was just the sound of his existence finally wrenching itself apart after so many tests. 

No.

No no no no. It hadn’t been.  
His daze had come to a startling end when the feeling of dust slipping through his fingers finally fed through the sluggish sensory pads. The chalky, ashen substance was everywhere. All over him, coating him thickly like a shell and every movement simply made cracks appear in the otherwise featureless gray it had stained him. 

His escape was a similarly violent affair. 

The sterile whiteness of her laboratory, the maddening buzz of a florescent light above. As a moth flew into it over and over, plink. Plink. Plink. He couldn’t stand it. Sitting there on the cot that sucked what little heat he possessed out of him. Feeling the way its metal edges bit into his palms when they slid against it. It was never going to end. He would never be free-.

Unless.

His attack on the bars was sudden, without any kind of reason. The new set of arms he possessed, combined their strength with the original pair. Metal was rent asunder under his sudden maddened power. As sirens shrieked overhead, red lights beaming to life. Casting everything into a hideous bloody hue. Lifting his terrified laughter into horrified screams. The other sorry beasts in their cages threw themselves against their bonds and roared out their oppression. Urging him on, glass shattered. Concrete crumbled when he threw the entirety of his weight against it. 

The first time he tasted fresh air in what seemed like an Eternity. Fleeing into the darkness, as far and as fast as he could away from the sound that rang in his ears. Day in and day out, it never stopped. Not until the basalt of the laboratory grounds turned to unfinished road, then to ashen sheets and finally. Wrinkled rock, rolling in waves for as far as he could see. In every direction there was more of it. He had run so far and so fast. He had no idea where he was.

For a time, he gave up and slept there in the shadow of a frozen magma wave, stilled with time.

“I-is it over?”

“Fool! It’ll never be over until we eat them.” 

He was bound to this hell. Every waking moment he heard Their voice. At once a sweet and charming whisper, twisted into this violent call. Making every eye well up with grief, how long had it been now? Since they had been requisitioned by the dark arm of the Royal Guard, press ganged into a laboratory. Now, trapped together, forced to share this body?

His home was as strange as ever. Stalking the halls and turning ancient furniture back up onto its legs. Dusting things off with the remains of finery he could not identify. It was as though he was living in the ghost realm of someone, or something painfully splendid. This opulent chateau had once belonged to a Well-to-do family of monsters. That much could be reasoned, with the dark wood and intricately carved baseboards. 

But, as beautiful as it became with every passing day he wasted his Eternal Punishment upon. Mettaton knew he could never leave, there was nowhere else for him to go. No place would accept an abomination into their midst. It was not out of pleasure, but a sense of duty continued in vain that he beat the dirt from every remaining rug. Using ancient, half dissolved cleaners to restore some sickly shine to the wood. Every surface, every table, every floor and cupboard. 

He had to make it pretty! It was...an obsession. To say the least, when his mind was wracked by the aches and pains of fragmented minds. For a brief moment, it could be silenced by dedication to this task. To briefly admire the way his grisly pointed teeth reflected off the polished surface of a cracked china plate. 

He saw to the wallpaper, tacking it back up the best he could so it did not peel and touch the floor. Then the mirrors, a mirror for every hallway, for every room. He couldn’t forget, the glimpses of himself. Equal parts maddeningly horrible and yet, as time wore on perhaps he began to admire his grotesque form? 

There was something in his house. In his sanctuary. A little...two legged beast-.

For a brief moment, everything stilled. A unified gaze suddenly fracturing into two separate images divided by a line of static. A smiling human…a neutral one. In its hands, a bow...a knife? Each image came in petrifyingly clear quality, so slow yet unable to evade. It came closer and closer, those terrible visages swallowing his consciousness.

At once, there was warm, and cold. Something gripped his hand, biting deep into his SOUL container. Red gloves pet the stop of a fragile skull, the yellow pair gripping the handle of a blade jabbed deep into the foul amalgamation that was his 8-chambered heart. Sinking slowly, finally to the floor. The polished wood of the chateau biting into his knees as he hugged the entity closer. Trying to pull out the blade. But with every centimeter it moved, more of the thick rusted ichor poured out around it. Every lopsided beat, awkwardly and sluggishly twitching.

“Thank you. Thank you little Savior.”

“Whose mistake...was I….anyway?”

They were so warm, their gentle mannerisms so reassuring. Silencing the painful sound of his lost half. The screams of another finally coming out of his mouth, his own. Dying hurt. The feeling of oily tears, the stickiness of congealed blood. The air full of metallic reek.

“You helped me so much.”

“At least....I paid the price.”

Slow. Slower. Nothing. Darkness came as the blade was extracted, the little human waved goodbye. Leaving his home rested for their journey.

“We are so grateful.”

Leaving him dead. But somehow, even more ALIVE.


	4. Techno-Pocalypse: The End is Nigh

Sometimes things in the multiverse went wrong. Certain timelines became corrupted, poisoned by something unknowable. So unutterably horrible, this cyclopean horror came from somewhere beyond the stars. From the darkness, so cold that not even the penetrating beams of light from trillions of worlds could seep into its ichor.  
From it. Came a Technicolor Savior in the form of a familiar Skeleton, driven onward by an unspeakable hunger. It sought victims, setting its eyes upon a humble timeline that had nothing particularly unusual about it. All the usual phantoms were there, familiar faces that perhaps once very long ago. Before, he would have recognized. But now, they were food. Infinite eons had passed, he was eternal now and sought only to spread the virus.

The first unbearably mortal creature he set his YOLO-sights on was nothing special, at least not initially. Sitting pretty in their polished prison, one leg crossed over the other. Reading some kinda nerdy ass book. Who even did that anymore? Certainly not this dork, at least not after he was done with them.   
"Huh, so what'cha doin' Homeslice?"  
He whispered suddenly in the unaware being’s ear. Grinning all the wider when they practically leapt out of their skin with a high pitched, metallic scream.

“What on earth are you WEARING darling, I never took you for...well..whatever that is.” The primitive life form towered above him, pink and black. One hand covering their mouth as they spoke, eyes twitching over his corporeal form with no shortage of disgust. Well, they were always disgusted by him at first. “Really, I’ve never seen you in a get-up like that before Sans. How did you even get in here?”

"Let my own radtastical self in babeski, ain't like the door was locked."

“Pardon, did you just call me babeski?” 

The android didn’t get the opportunity to ask another question. 

Twisting forms of color had lurched forward and encircled the unsuspecting denizen of this timeline. Soon they would all be food, nourishing the writhing creature within. His tendrils had no troubled piercing the android’s carapace. Digging through metal, wire and synthetic organ until it could burrow into the plexiglass prison protecting its SOUL. A metallic scream silenced by one such looping appendage piercing the soft flesh between the mandible and burrowing itself into the artificial palatine bone. Anchoring the robot’s mouth closed, possibly forcing itself even deeper to poke at the chipsets that gave it sentience. 

It was a let down really, this wasn’t an organic creature at all. There was only the SOUL to consume. But- if it wasn’t truly alive why did something akin to terror-filled tears drip from its eyes? The cowardly way it shivered in his pulsating grip-? It was afraid! Like it was scared of dying. Hah, that was /funny/. The Fresh One had to bring the weeping being close, lowering his YOLO-glasses temporarily so the reddish purple eye of the Parasite within could see this better.

“Guess you should’a run huh?” He leered, that unnatural grin even more poisonous with the wriggling tips of neon maggot-like worms squirming between calcified teeth. “Would’a been so Dope, normally I’d be down. But it’s cashed, I gotta jack you up and roll. Timeline ain’t gonna DOOM itself.~”  
By now the creeping flesh of his true form had seeped into the container and the Android’s eyes suddenly went Blue-screen-of-Death when the magenta SOUL had been backed into a corner. Unable to flee, unable to escape its pressurized prison it was taken into his grasp and promptly ripped from the body. 

The Neon-horror flung the shell away, focusing all his attention on this raw piece of SOUL energy pulsing so violently in his multi-dimensional feelers. Forcing their way into it as well to corrupt the whole operation. He had just unhinged his skeletal jaw it got past his teeth, and it went down easy.

But the SOUL refused to Die.

What the FU-!-NK was that?

The Fresh One felt sick. His corporeal form lurched forward, unending polychromatic nightmare limbs suddenly retreating back into his body. A leftover biological instinct to wheeze, to pant, to /gag/ came over him. What did he just /eat/? It was awful-. This was the most brutal case of indigestion he’d EVER got off a soul. It was straight wicked homie-. 

Oh JEEZE.

He pukes. For once, he vomited up what he consumed. Or at least he would have, but it was a dry heave. Bringing up melted skittles hued bile but no Soul. It was lodged somewhere and digging itself deeper. He’s made a mistake. That soul wasn’t right there was something wrong with it. It wasn’t natural, he’d eaten a thousand timelines and all of its denizens but not a single one had Refused to be digested. There was resistance yes, but they all died within a few moments from the sheer pressure of cosmic strength ripping them apart. 

His vision fades for a moment.

Urk.

This time when the galaxy ending, once-surely-all-powerful parasite forces its husk to vomit again. Glitter was mixed into it. Pain all at once seized the Hivemind, some part of it was being ripped away. Taken, converted into something...else. Splinters of translucent flesh, complex spires of alien bone broken apart by an unknown force until finally this hideous, rainbow pustule of life burst out from inside of them. Splattering walls and ceilings with a spray paint slaughterhouse.

“U͏gh,̶ l͝i͡k̕e̛,͡ Gr͞ody͡ ţo t̛he͢ ͝M̛A̧X. Wh̴y͜ ͠d͘id yo͢u ͢/ḑo/ ͏that?” A bizarre voice suddenly reached his ringing external acoustic meatus. Pulling himself from the floor and out of the glittery cosmic ooze, the Fresh One set eyes upon a whole new entity.

This was bad. Like straight up Whack.

He had to kill it, like Nowsville. 

Any further interjection was put off in favor of summoning a cadre of neon bones to try and impale it again. Internally the parasites were scrambling to repair whatever damage had been done from this thing being CREATED. He could take it, it was new. He was not, it looked promising as the razor edge of a strobing ossein neared to freshly gelled alien flesh.

It. Shattered… 

C̷an'͠t t̢o͞uc͟ḩ t̵his.

He was exhausted. He couldn’t stand anymore, it was too much. He’d destroyed half of this building trying to kill this thing. It wouldn’t die, it was like him. Eternal, possessed by the Freshness in its all encompassing Radness. Somewhere, in the pits of consciousness.

F͜res̕h̸ n̢ew kicks̢,̛ ad҉va͡nce ҉

A Blue Soul laughed brokenly.

͠Y͘oư go̷tt̛a͡ like̕ ̕t͜h͜at, ņow y͢o̷u kņo̴w͜ ̢y͟ou wanna ͢dance ҉

Everything hurt. 

“Wh̴at͘ev͘’s͢,̛ Į f̶o͘r͜g̡i͘v̨e yo͘u.”̕ This new entity cooed. Cocking one hip to the side, one pastel nailed hand resting there. The rest of them bending forward to get more or less eye level with the much shorter abomination.“Li͝ke͞,͏ t̴hat͝ ̷was̸ ͜he͟l͡lz҉ą rųde̕ bu͝t̶ how͞ y͜a̸ fe͢el͘i̷n’ Play҉a?.̛ I h̸op̡e ̶I ͢ḑid͏n’͜t hu̕rt͡ y̛ou,͝ l͞ik̨e̸ /too͞/̧ ͟b̧a͢d.” 

 

An upside down black star was buried in its forehead. The two-toned leg warmers, short shorts and obnoxiously patterned tights...A tubetop hanging suggestively off one shoulder. Was that like...Twenty slap bracelets?! Hoo-shnikies it was like a dream -Nightmare- come true! The Fresh One’s aching tendrils managed to push him to his feet. Jutting a hand out to the Fly-demigod before him. Trying to keep the uncool staring to a minimum by reflexively fixing his YOLO shades.   
“Heh Brah, I’m slammin’. ‘Sup with you?” 

S͠o mo͞ve, ou͏t̨t̕a ͡y҉our şea̵t  
He was not, in fact, slamming, that Biz-nasty actually hurt quite a bit. Felt like something- was lost. Somewhere back in the thousandth eye of the Thousandth mind it was like an alien heart had been ripped from the valves and was pouring out hyper-color blood. Filling up the cavity with its radical heat.  
And҉ ge͢t ̶a fly ҉gir͜l͜ an̨d c͜at͘ch this ̡be̴aţ ̛  
The hand was accepted and gently shook. If that didn’t make a parasitic skeleton blush rainbows nothing would. Fresh’s poisoned breath came in ragged little gasps. As this mad Chica spoke once again, their voice was like an otherworldly boombox. Phat as heck.  
“͡SO Z̛lint͏, ͝b͝ab͝e̵. Li̴k̛e, I͢ c͞an’t ev̛en҉ be͝gin͟ ̛to͟ ̧de͟s̵c̸rib̢e͢ how̨, ͡like̴, ҉Tri͞p̴p͘en̡dicu̡l̷ar I’m ̛fee͟liņg̵ right̴ ̷n̵ơw!͞ For͢ sure͏~͟!”

Guess he was stuck with them. “A’ight, if you feelin’ that Dank. Let’s bounce.”  
“̨D͞a̢m̛ņ ̛S̷ķip̶p̸y!̢”  
Wait a minute, why couldn’t he censor that? The Fresh One stared at his hands for a moment. Before straightening up. “Yo. No swearing.”

Monsters were on the scene in no time.

The castle had been attacked by an unknown foe, guards lay crumpled in the streets. Dust blew on the wind, Undyne was the only one left. Being called away from Waterfall on her human hunt had been annoying but this. This was so much worse. She’d had the good sense to not go barging into this war-zone. As many monsters apparently had. Given the amount of destroyed bodies, slowly degrading on the pavement. Something was wrong, the assailants looked...Familiar. But somehow...Not.

What appeared to be Sans stood beside what Only could have been Mettaton. But the colors, the way they were dressed was all wrong. It couldn’t have been one of the Androids television shows going wrong because she had JUST seen the short skeleton, A. Wearing a blue hoodie and B. Standing guard at his outpost in Waterfall like he always was. So to see him here, and like this was a shocker. 

Still, she wasn’t about to question it. They- they had destroyed a good many monsters by this point. Something was on fire somewhere-. The fish monster summoned a volley of spears and threw them full force at the brightly hued duo. Giving a preemptive cheer when they hit dead on, impaling them in several places. 

What she didn’t expect was the way her magic slowly… slid through them. Dissipating shortly after, watching as gaping holes stitched themselves back together and suddenly their attention was on Her. Purple aura’d gazes, unnatural looking smiles. Worms? Her thoughts were suddenly stolen from her as a scorpion tail-like appendage launched itself out of what she had once known as the Star of the Underground and lodged itself directly into her skull.

Her vision darkened.

"͝I͜ ̴li̴ķe͟,͠ ̵cal͡l͡ ͠d̵i̴bs̶ ͏on̡ th̢at҉ ͘o͝ne̛!"̧

“Chica, you trippin’.” 

The next thing she knew, her vision returned. A fierce sensation filling her heart- But she couldn’t move. Her body felt like lead, any attempts to raise her arms and it was like the entire weight of the ocean was crushing her bones. A frustrated growl made its way out of her throat, fins flaring openly. There they were again! Leering openly at her now.

“See? Still alive, No dibs.”

"͠U͞gh, as̡ ̕i͜f.̧"̢ 

A stirring to the left caught her attention, the slumped form of her trainee, none other than Papyrus had seemingly woken up as well. Oh god, how many monsters were trapped here like this? What were they even stuck in? It was a hard, almost crystalline substance that ranged in color from violet to bright red.   
Why had she failed, what was she going to do!? What WERE these things?

The creature in the shape of Mettaton ran its poisonous hand over the Faux-Sans’s skull, finger tips briefly catching on those YOLO-shades.“You͡ kn̢ow ͝ba͡b̶e͏,͡ I̸ ̢s͡h̷o̴u͜ld like, t̴ot̷a͝lly ̕l̨ike, ̡ŗi̛p ̛th̷e̕ir b͞od̡i͘es in͡t͡o it͞ty-bi͝tt̸y ͠p̧įec͘es,҉ t͡h̴e͘n l͝i̛k͟ę ea̴t ̢th̢e҉i̵r̕ s͝ouls, t̕o f͝u̶el our s̨w̶e̢e̢t ͢Cos̛mic ͢C̢onq͞ue̴st҉.̶” A strangely ethereal giggle made its way out of the abominations mouth. “͘D’͏ya ͞th̕i͏nk like̷, t̕h҉e ͏sam̛e͘ ̡t͜h͏i̕ņg c̡ơuļd̷ ͞happ͞en ̕tǫ ̛m͝e͏? Wh̴at ͡if ̢w͢e ̷ju̕st͠ ļi͜ke,͟ ̵kȩpt̸ ͞ơn d͘u͜p͢l̛icat͜i̢n͠g͝?͜”

“Dunno, but eating all those souls would go right to your hips.”

"G͏a͡g ͢m̢e͝ wi̶t҉h ͘a sp͟oǫn,̨ ͠m҉ę?̴ G͝et͏ f̴a͠t̸?͡ N͟o ̛way!"

Their banter was soon interrupted.

By Monsterkind’s Last Hope.

Techno-pocalypse Part 6̙̤̻̟6̠̰͎̹̝͎6̲̟͙͚͙͢ The Multiverse shudders.

Some part of him thought it was funny. That through the shifting, changing nature of the universe. How many times he had lived his own life, over and over again. Thinking something just wasn’t /quite/ right. That it would end like this. Reports had flooded in of a destructive force sweeping through the underground. Dusting every monster in its path, and it wasn’t the human. In fact, they were nowhere to be found. He couldn’t find anyone. 

The world was falling apart.

Things beyond his understanding twitched through the sky, parts of the land vanished and reappeared in spasmodic rapture. Numbers, shifting seizure-like colors came and went as fast as he could register them. But worst of all was the low, droning screech of some infinitely massive construct grinding to a halt as vital pieces were eaten by The Worms. It was bad enough when ☝✌ 


	5. Skull Crusher

Everything was seeping red. Like oozing pus from an infected wound. Pain threaded through every bone. Breath came in shaking, wheezing drags. Turning white and tangible in the choking air. Or perhaps that was simply his sight fading in and out. As spirals of color and sharp contrasts appeared every time he could suck in another gasp of air.   
Gloved fingers dug into the bone of his skull.   
The leering grin of that son of a bitch-

“Why do you look so angry mister Serif?” purred that ugly, sharp voice. Coming as if from nowhere. Stabbing his senses, and whatever mystic presence served as a ghost-brain. The cracks along the curve of his cranium ached. His eye lights focus long enough to catch glimpses of a striped dress shirt, the top buttons undone. His tie was a mess- it made the Skeleton snicker.

“ ‘Cause I fuckin’ hate you Ding-dong-”  
His breath was stolen again by a fresh burst of pain. Like something was crawling through him. Made of screws and jagged edges, scraping the very inside of his marrow. He felt the stab in his SOUL- threatening to make him scream rather than snarl at the figure of his worst enemy. Standing over him, looking unbearably smug as he always did.

“Yet here you are, sprawled across my work table. Night after night. That statement reeks of denial, Mister Serif.”  
The hand resting on his skull crept forward enough to suddenly snap his neck back. The sharp CRACK of bone against granite rang in his temporal meatus. As the spirals of color blossomed in front of his eye lights. Making the visage as well as the room spin.

His claws capture the Ghoul’s tie, yanking it far harder than necessary. Hissing inches from that cruelly grinning mask.   
“The only thing that reeks around here, is you. Ya filthy undead meat bag.” 

That got a reaction out of him, pure blissful agony masquerading as some shadow of pleasure ripped through his SOUL. The cruel threads of Gaster’s own energies threatening to snuff his magic out. Strangling him from the inside out.  
But it never did. 

It was a strangely euphoric feeling to be this close to blacking out and breaking down at the same time. His fangs click together sharply, the olecranon bone keeping him partially upright slid out from underneath him. Sending papers and an empty flask to the floor. The sound of shattering glass masking his tired, breathless noises.   
It was hell, but he never sought to liberate himself from it.

He didn't care, he knocked another one over on purpose. Throwing an arm over his eye sockets, the comparatively cool fabric of his lab coat helping significantly as his other hand bones were nearly crushed in the ghoul’s grip.   
“Better than you still, you second fiddle playing fertilizer additive.”

“Did you just try to call me shit?”   
He couldn’t ward off the grin, now that was amusing.

“No-” his vision goes black at the edges again, when claws find their way into his eye sockets. A headache blossomed instantly, expounded upon when his skull was promptly bashed against the tabletop again. Making his limbs involuntarily jerk with the sheer force of it.  
“When you are dead, and forgotten, you’re going to be ground up for Bone meal. I promise you that.” 

“You fuckin’ wish, I’m gonna have your job one of these days. ‘Cause I’m better than you coffin risers-”   
The claws dug hard into the back of his skull, the echoing scrape breaking his concentration utterly as a whole new wave of pain broke into the Inner layer of his SOUL-!!  
That time, Gaster got him to scream. 

It was like having vertigo, vomiting blood through every orifice and feeling the most mind numbingly good thing in existence all at once. So much so he didn't even register the broken, wispy laughter coming from the Royal scientist for several seconds as his SOUL attempted to reassemble itself in the mire of residual energy left behind by a sharp, unforgiving retraction of the Ghoul’s own SOUL.   
Staining his very being. 

The sick fuck. 

Sans lay there, straightening out one aching leg. Staring at the speckled ceiling in an attempt to aid his flickering existence. Every time they did this, working too many hours, getting under each other’s metaphorical skin. It ended up this way, the pieces were coming back together slowly, enough to where he could see, he could feel his extremities again. 

Absently he cranes his neck just enough to see the narrow form of that glorified Zombie leaning on the C.O.R.E’s central walkway railing. The smoke from some type of cigarette curling around him like a noxious halo. Good for nothing, flesh eating Ghoul-

It didn't matter, he won this time.  
Like he did every time, the ooze-like quality of his psychic presence made the fresh wounds on his SOUL sting sharply as it drifts back into its translucent state.   
Like dozens of needles had pierced him all at once, connecting with one another. Forming a burning cat's cradle within his very being.  
It wasn't the first time he felt like a scorched puppet.

First time it was ever that bad though. It was almost malignant, the way even his own magic threatened to come undone at the seams after such an unspeakable union.

The blood red cavern sky above, was as ugly as the shredded meat hued buildings, and the central black stair step pyramidal structure that was supposed to put an end to all of their troubles. No more power ordinances, food would be easy to grow, hell supposedly they could change the Weather system of the entire cavern if they wanted.

If he kept working on it, well they might just have a chance. Gaster though? He was just causing problems, like always. Having the gall to come over and change key components of his theorems. Erasing and rewriting core portions of the arithmetic he was sure would work if he could only test them.  
But why would Gaster give up the sweet kickbacks and government money to fix the problem for good?

The swamp of foreign life force flooding out of and dissipating from the crevices dug deep into his SOUL made the Skeleton feel sick as he slid off the table. Landing on his feet thankfully, and he didn't even fall over this time. Instead leaning on the table for support, breathe in. Out. In. Out.  
Useless, but he did it anyway. The phantom desires of non-existent lungs were as strong as the acidic distaste on his phantasm tongue.   
He should have gone home hours ago.

How long has it been? One, two days? 

Didn't matter, had to regain some face after that.  
His hands found their way into his lab coat's pockets, strolling slowly. Doing his best to hide the wobble in his gait. With absolute concentration as it felt like his SOUL could splinter apart at any moment as it desperately tried to fill in the Holes left by the Ghoul. It never succeeded. 

They were Forever, that's why he did it. Eating pieces of him. Sustaining his own hideous life, by consuming chunks of another. Devouring him from the inside. 

Unimportant, what was done was done.   
He stands at least arm's length from Gaster, enjoying the cool air that came off the massive metal frame of the silent C.O.R.E. It had been under construction for years, starting out with mass land clearing, and then slowly began to take over the sky as well, now it loomed over even the royal family’s castle.   
Figures the egotistical piece of trash would build something even bigger and grander than what even the King had. 

It probably didn't even need to be half this size. 

It was getting close to being ready, that's what they were doing. All this time, all the departments, every study was going into this. Here at the top was Him and ‘Ding-dong here. 

“Beautiful isn’t it, mister Serif?”   
His eye lights roll. Gaster was always overly proud of it's aesthetic value. The geometric forms cut into the metal, holding a sort of exotic, alien quality, there was nothing else like it in the underground. Hell, probably nothing like it in the surface World either.

“Yeah, unlike th’ monster who made it.” 

A vexed sigh crept out of the Ghoul as he gripped one of Sans’s sleeves. Pulling him rather forcefully to his side. So he could drape one arm around those stocky, bony shoulders.  
“You don’t seem to have a problem with my looks when you're on your back.” 

“Tch, stop touching me Ding-dong.” 

“Be quiet for once in your miserable life and let me enjoy the view.”

He hated this, when Gaster would just stand there and hold him after they got through with that painfully pleasant business. He’d prefer it if the Royal scientist would keep his grubby, pale hands off of him. But no such luck.  
“Why th’ fuck did I ever let you make me sign those damn papers.” 

“Because you adore me, and being away from my side would be too much to bear-” He could hear the smirk in his voice, he didn't even need to turn his skull to see it.  
“Or at least, that's what you told them so you could work here. Despite your painfully obvious lack of qualifications.”

“You are fortunate the King is a romantic, and even more so that I find your acerbic attitude amusing.”   
It was all too convenient. Having to agree to marry him to achieve this goal. It was a sham, but good for appearances. They hated each other like the Citizens hated water from the Aquifers. 

“Don’t remind me that I’m stuck with you. I already gotta work with ya every damn day.”   
Yet, standing here, resting against the narrow, bony frame of arguably the most famous. Perhaps even most desirable monster in the underground. Finally out from under his constantly weeping mother, and the stifling social climate that had once been lowercase society. Breathing in the poison air that always seemed to hang around the Ghoul.  
Sans had never felt more trapped in his life.

“Pinned like an insect darling, but you brought this on yourself.” 

His pearly white fangs ground together. “So I did.”   
He’d only traded one set of chains for another.


	6. Ragnarok

How many times had it been now? Ten, twelve, *Fifteen?* He’d lost count, but it didn’t matter. He’d been blessed, like a dark phoenix that rose from the ashes no matter how many times the world *burned*. Instead of standing in horror, beneath the massive curtain of flames. Blotting out the sky, scorching his eye sockets. He had embraced it, in more ways than one. The first time, he shivered in terror in the shadow of his savior. Unable to stand against her, or anybody else. *The weight of his Sins crushing him.* She had laughed at him, once an abhorrent sound, now filled him with a peculiar sort of glee to hear it. By the sixth time, she’d decided she had enough of tormenting him. Weak and pitiful as he was, a worthless scab on the wounded hide of the Underground.

He’d been taken beneath her grisly, blood soaked arm. To be a suitable opponent was his goal, to be what *She* desired, what she sought. A force mighty enough to stand against her, and with her advice. He slowly became just that. Every reset splintered the once pearly surface of his bones, leaving him *sharper* every time. His eye magic grew deeper in its crimson hue, until it was **Powerful**, where once he got winded simply firing off a gasterblaster, (He hated the name. But it fit too well, he didn’t have anything better.) once. He could unleash a hellish volley of them against whatever he desired, suffering no ill effects. For the most part, sustaining that kind of power could be...destructive to oneself. But he did it, because she *wanted* him too.

By the eighth time he confessed his loyalty to her. Taking his dedication further and further, sabotaging the monsters he’d once felt a weak sort of longing for. Replaced by a golden grin at their demise, a misplaced foot here, a stray bone there. Unlocked doors, unguarded passageways, each and every run brought their demise in increasingly **brutal** fashions. Where once he had simply driven a bone into the back of his old mentor’s head, now he took pleasure in *burning that bastard* **Alive.**

He no longer feared the monster that he’d called Boss, he no longer feared The *Queen* why he no longer feared *Death.*

For every fatal blow struck against him, the little lady would be back. Their dance would begin anew, each time he stepped on less toes, each time it became bloodier, finally a release of the *pent. up.* **aggression.** He had internalized for so long, reflecting itself in his posture. No longer did he hunch up on himself, he stood boldly, *proudly* because he was Strong and everyone else was Weak.

Well, everyone except Chara. She was still strong, so very strong. So admirable, her malicious attitude was marvelous to put it simply. His eye lights were always illuminated in rapt attention when her knife was raised. That killing blow, the sweet release of pain that ended their sorry lives. How many had she killed now? Over and over again, he’d lost count. Only seeking to count his *own* perishing, when that silver blade would deliver the fatal **chink** in his ivory to reduce him to nothing.  
Ready to play again, to dance, to live, to fight.

A new purpose had been given to him, her mercy to release him from himself was infinite, and he was grateful. In fact so grateful, for but a moment he stood in awe before her, as he had many many times.

*“What was that now L’il Lady?”* He inquired, eyelights eagerly tracing the edge of the blade that had been thrust forward, scraping against his sternum. But it did not sink in, it simply *scraped* and He? He pressed further into it, feeling the *sharpness* it made his SOUL pulse in a strange, eager manner.

“I want you to prove what you said!” She cooed, twirling the blade around to offer the handle to him. “You said you’d do *anything* for me, didn’t you?” That girlish smile, innocent voice, luring him further into destruction.

“ ‘Course, and I mean it!” His phalanges reflexively curl into a fist, making sort of a striking gesture downward. “Anything at all!” 

“Prove it!” The handle of the knife prodded him in the ribs and his attention was suddenly ripped from her beaming face to the pommel. “I want to see how far you’ve come! You *have* sworn loyalty to me, haven’t you Mister Skeleton~?” 

Her hand rests on her hip, childish smile fading into something mock-serious. “You said it yourself, I’m the Boss now~!” It broke into a little titter, the malice in her eyes was mixed with a morbid curiosity. 

His grin didn’t falter, phalanges wrapping around that blade and gently taking it from her. He could see his reflection in the metal. Polished smooth, *worn* by *use*. Where once a pale skeleton with a fearfully manic smile would have stared at him, a true grin was now. The chips missing from his eye sockets, the long score down his infraorbital foramen. The few teeth that hadn’t been knocked out and replaced with **gold** were chipped. 

His hands were the same way, much of his body bore the score marks from this blade. It was hard to deny the cold sweat that had broken out on him. A bad habit, but he wasn’t nervous this time. Not like he *used* to be, he’d *never* be nervous like that again.

“Sure thing Boss, whatever you say.” One scarlet eye light flickered out, in a mockery of a wink. “Where’s the damage goin’?”

“Wherever it hurts the worst, you know how this works Silly!” Her hands were clasped behind her back, an expectant expression upon her face. “Well? Go on! Unless you **Lied** to me.” The look in her eyes was near predatory. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” A little shrug. “Not even something **worse** than death would make me do that.” No need to fear death right? No matter how many times he died, she came back, and he would live again. His grip on the knife tightened, his eye contact with her broke as he raised it. The light reflecting off its surface, luminous, *glorious*, it was what she wanted. It took a moment to decide, a lot of places hurt. But where hurt the *worst?*

When he scraped the tip against his temple he caught himself wincing. Bingo.

“C’moooon Ruby, don’t stall! Or do I have to do it myself, *again?*”

“Nah, I got it Boss, sorry.” She named him! At last! The joy in his SOUL almost drowned out the *Agony* of the knife. His hand extended away, and then rammed the blade into his skull sideways.

Everything went black.

Chara giggled. Seemed he meant every word.


	7. A Good Day

Cold sweat.

No pulse.

No sound, besides his own labored breathing. Limbs like lead. He couldn’t move, rooted firmly to the spot. Halluxes digging deep into the plush interior of the slippers protecting his bones. But he could not run, he could not turn away from what he saw. Between the crack of the door, light casting one stark band of illumination across his face. A single evening spent downstairs, binge watching television. Rather than going to bed when he was expected.

Bedtime was nine o’clock for a reason. 

Said the little voice in the back of his skull. Full of the little stern inflections that made him hunch up on himself when he was being scolded. But this, luminous abyss. Was he supposed to be standing here? It felt as though he was intruding, even though he hadn’t even fully opened the door. Hand frozen on the doorknob, and he was petrified. Pale light casting strange shadows into, what had once been only his bedroom.

It was difficult to be seized by this sensation, like he was falling. Plummeting breakneck towards the gates of hell.  
It wasn’t real.

But it was. Couldn’t be, that was Over. 

Nobody remembered anything, besides him. So it didn’t happen, obviously, couldn’t rely on the testimony of one single soul. Especially not one that observed the world through such a callous, occasionally distant lens.   
Red painted the walls, turning the pale lavender hue a hideous blackish scarlet in the stark light. A certain kind of dampness in the air, wet. 

Pushing the door open at last, he treads slowly across the carpet. Careful not to disturb the heavy silence in the air. Breath coming in steady, slow dregs, coming out as occasional wisps of frosty air as his phalanges found their way around the chain string of the lamp. Clicking it off, so he didn’t see it.

Pretending like the floor didn’t feel so suspiciously...slimy. 

He shrugged his coat off onto the floor, she’s gonna tell you to pick it up in the morning. No she isn’t. It’d be a good start to the day. Frozen again at the edge of the bed, a much bigger one now. Massive in comparison to what he had once slept on. But this was necessary. It was the only way. He grasps at the neat, and suspiciously clean smelling quilt. Letting his vision black out for just a moment as he pulled it back. Ignoring the way it felt like he was-

Sinking. As he slid onto the forgiving surface of a mattress he was probably gonna have to work ‘til 200 to pay off. But it was for the best-.

Just heavy enough to disturb the surface, but he didn’t go far. Didn’t feel the odd sensation of red seeping into him. Lapping at the compact bone, seeping into his clothes. Dragging him down, down into the coppery abyss. To Drown in the stuff. It was only deep enough to swallow part of him. Splinters of destroyed bone dug at his spine and ribs. Things wriggled in the wetness. Little teeth, nipping, chipping at what they could reach-. Edging carefully across the seemingly infinite expanse of his bed. It was shallower over here. ‘Til the silky sheets became dry once again.

She’ll be mad about the stains. Leaving trails of red across pillows, over the comforter, hand prints. Claw prints. Jagged bone, things that just weren’t real. He’d sidled up to the mass on the other side. One arm went over, and he nestled up against it. Hand clutching at the sheer material of a nightgown, cheek resting on just the slope of shoulder.

Warm.

The tides surely receded then. No worms, no maggots writhing around him. The simple reflection of white horn. No bones visible beneath ragged flesh. His hands found warm, found well- to put it politely. Meat. Firm, and living, not glistening gelatinous, reeking of decay. Cold. In his grasp. Rubbing his cheek bone against what was most assuredly clean and well maintained fur. It was almost second nature to find that familiar hand and twine his phalanges with it.

There was the pulse. 

His vision had all but faded out when he saw it. 

The movement. He stared straight ahead, over her shoulder, buried just close enough to feel safe without risking hurting her. It was there too. 

Standing over them.

Those red eyes. 

He tried to block it out, to dim his eye lights to where it was nothing but blackness and the soft breathing of the One he’d been destined to love. Across all iterations, all versions, every universe. He’d love her. He would Always love her. It wasn’t real.  
But still he could feel it, staring at them, breathing that hot, deadly breath. 

“I know yer awake.” The voice trilled, he could hear the sound of metal clinking together. The whole bed seemed to shift under its weight. The squelch of rubber against wood, wet. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth when he heard it. Just barely managing to twist his head enough to look over there. That’s what it wants. He knows.

Like him.

So much like him.

Standing over them, perched on the wooden foot of their bed. His sleeves were gone, an assured sort of raggedness taking over all his garments. But- most astounding was his Grin. Clad totally in gold, but between them seeped that scarlet fluid. One shattered hand in his pocket, the other splintered thing clutched around it. 

Its strength, it hefted an axe at its side. Leaning on it, like it was a cane and Not steeped in blood.   
“Forgetting somethin’?” It purred as he clutches closer to the warmth, the life, he had fought so long, so Hard to acquire. None of this happened, it was all in his head. She was warm, and she was alive.

“S’only a matter of time.” 

Deep breaths.

“I. Killed. You.” He utters, voice no higher than the most guttural of whispers. Forcing himself to nestle quietly back into place. The tide felt….even higher, lapping at his arm. Threatening to send him rolling down the incline. Back into the depths. 

“I’m immortal. As long as You exist. I exist.” 

“ ‘Cause you remember me. I’ll never die.” 

“You are dead.” He repeats. He saw it with his own eye lights. But the red dripping off its hands. Those awful, broken hands. Chinked to an unrecognizable degree, missing fingers, but its grip was powerful.   
“Not yet.” It uttered, almost laughing. “C’mon. You know you wanna.” 

A blood soaked hand came up from the abyss beside him. Slapping wetly against his skull, and he was powerless to resist it as it dug into his eyelights rolling him suddenly back into the cold. Senses assaulted by the feeling of drowning, watching the light above, bathed in crimson grow further and further away. An unreachable rectangle. So close, but drifting further away.

It jumped in after him.   
Feet first, sinking through the mire with ease. ‘Til it lounged beside him, resting its split skull on one destroyed hand. “Shouldn’t act so cold Pal. We’re friends aren’t we?” 

He could feel the hand burning the side of his skull, fingers deep in his eye sockets. Wrenching him further and further down. It seemed to go on for impossible distances, extending far beyond what he could see, and it only went further down. Every night they got closer to the bottom.  
“No.”   
“Don’t be like that.”   
“You, are dead. For the last Time.”   
“Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you?” 

It grinned at him, that unsettling awful grin. Even though it seemed to be breaking apart into ash before his very eyes. Bits flaking off, dissolving into the aether of blood they found themselves in. The axe lay across its shoulder, broken. The blade was missing, like half the skull still staring at him.  
“I’m here under orders, and you won’t get so lucky next time.” 

He knew what was coming, glancing down at the shriveled pale arm gripping his head. Occasionally testing it for cracks with little spasmodic squeezes. Extending from the battered, black ground between Her feet. That innocent smile, sending her dog to fetch him-. Her mouth opened for but a moment, he was ready, he was ready for it. Scream. Do it. They were so close. She reaches out, malice in her eyes. Touches him. 

“It’s time to wake up.”

He jolted awake. Trying to suppress the gasp making its way out of him. 

 

“I’m sorry, did I scare you?” 

The walls were clean, the bed was dry, and he was still whole.  
“Nah, I stayed up late watching movies again.”

She makes a tutting noise. “Now, how many times must I tell you not to do that?” Her voice was clear, no ragged croaks from a cut throat. 

“A lot. I guess I never learn.” His hand rubs the back of his skull. As he finally turned to look over at her. Her cheerful smile, the way the light filtered through her nightgown as she brushed her ears in the mirror. Eyes flicking up from her grooming to meet his ever intent stare. He loved looking at her, she was so beautiful.

But her smile falters.

“Sans...what happened to your face?” 

Wąke̸ ͞up.


	8. Frayed Edges

The pale light of the judgement hall swelled in through the tinted glass. Bathing everything in resplendent, warm colors. The pillars reflected brilliantly, their rich hue deepened further by the rays flooding in. Spilling across the marble floor, allowing the white specks of dust to catch, burning gold as they floated to the ground. There was no greater beauty.

How many times had she stood here? Knife in hand, ready to take on the world again. To see Her favorite monster in the whole world. She’d cut through the underground nine times. This was to be her crowning victory. Number ten, the final mark of her supremacy. Each time he’d found fault with her victory, following her closer and closer. ‘Til he was practically her shadow.

But where was he now?

Chara’s eyes swept the hall, expecting the menacing frame of Sans to appear at any moment. The way his shadow would darken everything, with the glimmering light of the surface pouring in. Making him for a moment, seem golden red as well, the promise hero. Her Adversary.   
But to her disappointment, he was not here. Not immediately before her, ready to Fight, to Die like he always did.

“Oh mister Skeleton~!” She cooed, tip toeing around the pillars. Twirling the knife in her fingers, here she was. Stuck with her Lv at 19. She couldn’t progress without him, he was the final challenge.The last bit of experience she needed to break the barrier. Her hard soled shoes made a sharp click against the polished floor. Dragging her dust covered hands over the stone so she could twirl around it dramatically. Half expecting to swing her knife, and meet his Lazy Bones on the other side. Napping. “Where are yooooooou~?” 

Each time he had grown more and more impertinent with her.

What had he called her before? Oh right, a Dirty Cheat. Chara had still failed to make him take that back. No he’d simply wink sagely at her with those disgustingly bright eye-lights. Tell her she still couldn’t take it back. Then he’d criticize her for some other trivial thing she’d done. Something she overlooked, like he was encouraging her. In his own twisted way.

Who did Sans think he was? Telling her how to end the world, and why she just wasn’t Good Enough at it.

Where. Was. He?

Red-tinged eyes snapped sharply to the exit. Still blocked, there was no one there. Why was he defying his post? Was he mocking her? She’d taken her time killing Them this run. Cutting them apart slowly. Making sure their screams were loud and clear. Because she knew he was watching. He always watched, standing by, letting things take their course.  
It was in its own way, Cruel for him to do that.

What had he said before? He was just as bad as her?

Chara doubted that. Look at him now, not even showing himself to the final Trial, where he’d be struck down again. For the tenth time, completing her first double digit run. She’d exhausted every possibility. Done everything he said, there was Nothing he could say now. Her victory was flawless! Now all she had to do was kill him and end the game Once and For All.

There was a flash.

“VICTORY.” Spelled out in front of her, as it always was. But she wasn’t in combat, she hadn’t been fighting anyone-.

The EXP meter clicked upward, further and further. Higher than the average enemy- like she’d defeated-.

No.

No. No. No. NO.

That coward. 

Her LOVE reached 20, Chara felt herself grow stronger. The Barrier shattered before her awesome might. But she stood there, alone, in the judgement hall. No new dust on her clothes, not even a scratch on her. Her knife was still hungry for the essence of monsters. It scraped against the pillar. But found no satisfaction. He wasn’t here. He had- He’d-.

Stolen her Victory. Stolen it from her Again.

Did he forget, she would just keep coming back?


	9. Finality

He was tired.

Dead tired.

It had started off inconspicuous enough. He found himself getting tired earlier. Opting to head for bed shortly after dinner, once Calligro and Frisk had their bedtime story. Ah, Mutt, she was getting to be a bit too old for Bedtime stories. But she listened in anyway, looking up from her homework or whatever reading Toriel insisted she do. Where once he would have crept back downstairs for a snack, and then watched TV ‘til midnight. Then curled into the cozy arms of his wife, ready to do it all again tomorrow. He found himself with only enough energy to read to the kids, and then fall into bed. Being woken by his alarm far too soon. Shuffling, half awake until he had coffee. But it only brought temporary relief to the symptoms.

At first. 

He thought he was sick. Taking the day off from work to sit around the house in his slippers. Watching Mutt take Calligro’s hand, grabbing their backpacks and racing out the door after trying to see who could eat breakfast the fastest. They took off across the grass and vanished down the street to catch the bus. Toriel would follow soon after, she told him a plate of food was left covered in the oven.   
Then, she pressed her snout to his brow-bone and hurried off. Polka dot umbrella in tow, with her coat and briefcase.

She was as great a teacher as she was a wife, and a mother.  
“Get well soon dear, I'll check on you again during lunch, so keep your phone on alright?”   
He nodded to her, holding up the device in question before it found its way back into his coat pocket. 

He remembered the door closing, settling on the couch. Taking a look at everything around them. It was great, it was more than he ever could have asked for.  
His phalanges found the remote, and he flicked on the television. 

But that's where everything stopped.

Everything was gone, all at once.

Sans never realized it happened until his vision swam back into focus and a worried Toriel was standing over him, shaking his shoulder. Her brow knit in worry, she was saying- something…?  
His name, she was saying his name.  
He snapped out of it immediately, grasping her wrist gently and offering a grin. But she still looked worried.  
Pale almost, like she’d seen a ghost.

“Dear, are you alright?” she asked, slowly sitting down beside him. One furry paw pressing against his skull, to no avail. Same temperature as always, but she had hoped. “When you didn't answer...I rushed back here to make certain you were alright.”

“But…” she whispered, even when he neatly tucked himself against her side. Wrapping his arms around her and letting out a quiet sigh. “You were still Sans. ...So...Still.” 

“I’m alright, I must’ve dozed off. I’ve been bone tired lately.” That got her to giggle, which made his SOUL beam with pride. “So I guess I was sleeping like the dead.”   
The giggle turned into a proper laugh, full of relief as she hugged him back. Paws rubbing over his vertebrae as she let the tension fade out of her frame.

“You scared me, you naughty skeleton.” Her chiding tone got him to snicker as well as she finally stood. Straightening her coat, she still had her reading glasses on. Her fur glinting brilliantly in the sunshine. Sans couldn't help but smile, it felt good to do that. It was genuine, it was at peace.

“Aw, don't give me th’ third degree Teach, you know I’m bad to the bone.~”   
She laughed again, and his SOUL soared higher as she playfully pat him on the head.

“You’re lucky I like you Mister Serif, but I expect to see you after school. In my office.”  
That got his attention, she crossed her arms, trying to look stern but still tripping up on her giggles.   
He had to play along of course, winking at Her with a rather licentious “Yes Ma’am.” Before the act broke outright into a warm smile.

“But really, I’m glad to see you are alright. If you feel any worse, we will go straight to the physician. Understand?” 

“Mhm, clear as crystal Tori.” 

“Good, now...why don’t you eat something?” 

That's how it started. He realized.

He wasn't hungry anymore. 

It only seemed to get worse from there. 

It happened again, a few weeks later.

He had a day off, had the house to himself.  
The kids raced across the grass, Toriel hustled off to school. He actually ate something that morning and halfway finished a crossword puzzle, when he was alone again. Ordinarily he would've gotten into the top shelf of the closet and popped one of his metal albums into the stereo system and made the windows rattle. But, he couldn’t bring himself to get off the couch. 

Then, nothing.

He was lucky that time. There was a series of parent teacher conferences and Toriel always kept the kids with her during those. They got to play in the kindergarten classroom and always came home with ice cream.   
He came back of his own volition. Confused as to why it was dark until he caught sight of the time. 7 PM.

He’d been asleep almost 13 hours. 

Or at least he thought he was asleep, but he didn't feel rested in the slightest. In fact he felt more tired than ever. So much so that he had to excuse himself from ice cream, and went straight back to bed. Complaining of a stomach ache and nothing more.

That's how it started. 

That's how he played it.

But then, the color started to go.

From everything.

At first it had been a subtle, insidious change. Reds became pinks, once vibrant colors were washed out. ‘til eventually there was nothing left. The world was black, and white. It terrified him, even moreso when he could no longer differentiate the white of Toriel’s Magic from anything else. 

He finally had to accept it, to realize what it meant.

He was dying. 

He tried, he tried so hard to keep it under wraps. But his own magic was faltering now, where once he could hurl a volley of ossein so hard and so fast he could make a valley of white where there should have been red.  
Now, blinking exhausted him. The geometric figures that once tessellated across the carpet and up walls now barely fizzled away from him. 

He was burning out.

Like a candle.

It was a rare time when he examined his own SOUL. 

But when he did, it filled him with ice. It was the only color he could see, and it...was fading. He’d never been a very dark blue, but this, it was lighter than the sky. Shimmering at the edges.

Little flecks, like tiny squares of ash were coming off of it.   
Dust. 

He had to confess then. Not to Toriel. Not immediately, but to the Kid. Mutt, poor, precious mutt. The Human he had fought tooth and nail for. Travelled unfathomable distances to a world he never knew to rescue. With whom he had conquered the odds of the Game and won with.   
Who, above all expectations, had chosen to stay here in this timeline. To stay here with him, and Toriel. Who had taken to Calligro the minute he could talk. They were a family. They were whole.

And he was dying. 

It was a bitter realization really. Sans knew he wasn't going to be around forever. Resets, timelines, it all warped your perception of the world. How you viewed death, time, other monsters. Before Mutt it had all been meaningless. It didn't matter how many times he had lived because he was destined to die, then to live it again, and die once more. Chara could control time. Reality, everything.  
Except him.

And he never let her win.

It had not left him with much time to consider the future. The what if things were different. The “How long would I be around with no interference.”   
As it turns out. 

Not long enough.

He took the kid out to the beach one day, after school. Calligro was napping, so they slipped away. He couldn't deny the warm feeling he got, arm around the kid once again. As they stared out at the ocean, on the edge of a pier. Alone. It was cold outside, and he’d gingerly draped his jacket around her, the way he did when they sat in the sentry booth together. Eating fries and watching the snow fall. Each time Mutt had gotten better, she was as good as gold this time. 

But she was always a little to quick for her own good.

“Why’d we come out here?” She asks, not bothering to wiggle out from under his arm. No she just stood there, and clutched his coat around her shoulders a little tighter as the icy ocean wind blew. 

She was getting so tall, it was incredible really. She was almost up to Papyrus’s chest. 

“Yanno, since we aren’t going to the arcade or nothin’-?”

“I want to tell you something kiddo.”

He could feel the way she tensed up slightly at that. He never ‘told’ her anything unless it was serious.   
“What’d I do?” The question came immediate.

“heh. Something I should know about?”

“No!”

“I’ll let it slide this time. But-, okay hold on.”   
He fished for his wallet and offered it to her.  
“Go run back down the pier, and get some fries okay? Extra salt, ketchup, you know.”  
He was buying time, to collect his thoughts. He knew that much.

She took it and scampered off with a grin, covering more ground now than she ever did back in Snowdin. Where she could barely keep up with Papyrus’s long strides.   
Sans took the opportunity to sit down then, letting his feet dangle off the edge of the peer. Regarding the respectable leather that had taken the place of his old pink slippers. 

She came back, far too quickly for his taste.

Some part of him had hoped, that he would suddenly be revitalized by all the good fortune and cheer he was surrounded by. That all of this would fade away and he would be able to see the darkening purples and reds of the sunset once again. That they would seem more vibrant than ever before. 

But they didn't.

It all stayed muted, black and white. In fact it somehow felt like his vision was even dimmer somehow. In the short time She had been gone.   
Frisk plops down beside him, thrusting a basket of salt and ketchup posing as French fries into his chest with a smile.  
He took them and idly started to nibble.

“...You know a monster is made up wholly of its SOUL, right?”

“Yuh-huh, is this ‘The Talk’ I’ve been hearing about? ‘Cause Jamie Robertson said-”

“No, no it's not that, jeez kid. Listen.” He tried very hard not to crack up at that. This wasn't the time for it.

“Ok, ok. Sorry.” 

“A monster's SOUL is it's everything, you know that. S’how we stopped...Them.” 

He could pretty much feel the smile drop from her face. It was difficult for both of them to recall. Among the dozens of other memories.

She stayed quiet, listening.

“I…” he pauses, setting the fries down and lacing his phalanges with her fingers.   
“Kid. I’m...gonna turn to dust soon.”

She sucks in air, but doesn't jerk her hand away. All he gets is a quiet “What?”, and it breaks his SOUL into little pieces.   
He glances over, watching Frisk scrub her face with the sleeve of his jacket. But he still didn't care if she got snot all over it.

“I mean it. I’m...fading. My magic is almost gone, and my SOUL-”   
He conjures it forth with some difficulty, and he hears the Kid choke up a little when she sees it. Squeezing his finger bones tighter.   
It was a sorry looking thing, dark at the center, light at the edges, growing ever lighter as Little flecks broke away and fluttered into nothing. It was smaller than it used to be...half gone more like.

“Why?” She asked, sniffing harder as it shimmers. Seeming to phase out for a moment. 

“Getting old I guess? Or, could be the strain. After everything-.”   
He feels a pain as it wavers again, opting to draw it back within himself before it dissipated entirely.   
“It took a lot out of me to destroy Ruby...and to make sure She never came back-.”

“Then I’ll reset! We’ll do it again, and we’ll find a way to make it so you didn’t have too-.”

“no. No.” He interrupts softly, “You’ve come too far, we have come too far. To go back now?”  
To do it all over again?

“There's no point.” He finds a smile on his face, despite the little sob that comes from the Human. He hugs her tighter.   
“We did everything right this time.”

“No, we didn’t! You’re- if you’re...fading that means we did something wrong!” She insists, he can feel tears dripping down on his skull as Frisk leans into him.  
“We must have missed something!” 

“Shh, kiddo. No. We didn't, trust me.”   
It was terrible, his resignation settled on him like a weight. A smothering blanket of...peace? 

“Please.” She whispers.

To do it all again.

He couldn't say for certain if they would come back. If they had to do everything all over again. But it would mean having to walk through the forest, rediscover the door, talk with Toriel without letting on that he knew who she was. Without telling her of the wonderful family they had...that He had erased it just to get a little more time. To do it all over again. To see Papyrus cry for the first time over Mettaton. Really cry.   
He still didn't know what went through that Robot’s mind when it happened. He supposed a reset would give him time to approach the situation and avert it before it ever happened. 

It would take them back down the lanes of Snowdin, back to Grillby’s, back to everything. The little house underground where he buried the memories of Gaster and eventually found love again. Having to tell him Goodbye again, when he finally was freed from the Void. To experience that little bite of pain, of indecision watching him. Cool and collected as ever, turn over his wedding band as ‘payment’ for watching his things. Dust and shadows lifting from their house as he took all his things and disappeared into the Undercavern. 

Papyrus still wrote to him sometimes. 

Seeing Calligro born from their magics, all the Human’s birthday parties. The dozens of mornings where he woke up to butterscotch pie. The holidays they celebrated.

“No.” He shook his head. “I know...goodbyes don't ever seem like they mean anything.”   
More tears fall on his skull.

“But let's...make this one permanent.”

“To re-do all of this, to put them back underground, to make everyone experience all the pain and loss they’ve gone through. Just to delay the inevitable-”  
He pauses. There was so much to say, and so little time to do it. 

“It's not what we’ve taught you, is it?”   
He gets a quiet “no” for his trouble, and more tears.

“Everybody needs you...but I won’t ask you to stay. I know you can...pull up that Screen and ADVANCE if you want too.”  
He didn't want the Human to suffer. Not then, and not now. He had learned better now. Funny how wisdom paints things a different color, even more so when you are near the end. 

“There will be a whole new world for you...and you’ll brighten it as much as you’ve brightened ours.” 

“ I don- I don’t want too.” Her voice rose an octave, almost to a pained whine. “I don’t wanna advance or….or leave you guys or lose you.”  
She clutches at his shoulder tighter.   
“It's not fair.”

“I think it is. I lived a good life.”

“It's not fair though!” She cries slamming her fist on the dock’s wood.   
“First Mettaton...and now you? Why don't you two get to enjoy this? H-how is it supposed to be a happy ending if everyone....” She barely whispers it. “Dies.”

“It's...happy because we’re free? We had all this time to go wherever we wanted. To be the masters of our own fates.”   
He was treading carefully here. It would be too easy to slip into the same mindset. Say it wasn't fair and do it all over to try and get something better.   
“None of us...lived and died underground, we got to see the Sun.” 

“We got to meet you.”

“But kid. Really. A Skeleton was never made to last forever. We...disappear quicker than other monsters.”

“It's natural. I just...sped up the process.”

She says nothing, Frisk only wept a while longer as the sun set further. Deepening it's colors ‘til it turned to black, starry sky.

“Be good, okay? Don’t ever look back.” 

“I’m no good at being good Sans. You know that.” She sniffs, rubbing her eyes harder.

“I think you’re selling yourself short.”

Eventually they went home, and Frisk ran up to her room. Sans gently assuaged Toriel and told her it was because he nagged her about her grades.   
They all went to bed, and Sans was at peace.

He lasted another week, before he had the house to himself again. He stayed up stairs all day, looking out the window at the monochrome world. At the pictures they had collected, of all the friends who had since moved away, on to bigger and better things. The few who had passed. 

He took the time to write something for Toriel.

He told her, how much he loved her. How she changed everything for him. How she gave him light and meaning, a family, everything he ever could have wanted. This life they had together was the Happiest he had ever been. He was so grateful she married him, there were no words to express how proud he was of their kids. Of everything they had achieved, and he confident that they would do even greater things.

He wrote something for his brother.  
More consolation than anything, but he believed in Papyrus’s dreams. He made every day a little more amazing when he showed his face.  
He had better continue to be great, the world needed a Star like him in it. There was no doubt in his mind that there would be ever greater heights for someone as Great as him to reach.   
He loved him, nobody could ask for a better bro.

But by then, he was tired. All at once he had so many thoughts. He wanted to write everything for everyone. To make sure they knew how proud he was.

But he set the pen down, and gingerly settled in his favorite chair. Glancing at the books, their bed, everything.

He hated making promises. He couldn't be there for them forever. But he had tried. 

He had asked them, to put his dust somewhere the Sun could always reach him. 

He’d be grateful.

A low sigh leaves him, and his vision dimmed further. Shrinking down into little specks of light. He could see his SOUL, the remaining half had flickered down to nothing more than a sliver.

ONE HP REMAINING. 

It was done.

It ticks over to 0, and everything goes blank.   
The world was gone. 

Only a dusty jacket remained.


	10. 404 File Not Found

Ksssssssst.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

Tsssssst.

Click.

There was no greater horror than the feeling of falling.

Plummeting, unable to catch yourself as you dropped down. Hands scraping the smooth metal sides as the light became so bright, so INTENSE it blotted everything up above out. Watching as a blur of white and blue just barely missed connecting with white and black. The final clang of metal as it banged against self. A voice, two voices, a scream. 

Falling. 

And falling.

Wind lashing passed, speeding up. Going to hit, going to smash into the unforgiving ground and splinter across it like an egg chucked up against the wall. Nothing more than a black splatter at the bottom of an incandescent basin-. It was so bright, blinding. But it was on. There was no bottom now. As amaranthine magic rocketed upward, mixed with the bright white. When it made contact with the Sphere at the bottom. There was noise. Besides the screaming of the air and that obnoxious flapping of a coat in the wind. Left hanging on the side of the railing, far above. Unreachable now.

It was gone in an instant, there was only bleak and terrible white and NOISE. 

Everything was gone. Was he blind?

Cracks, geometric and uneven spread across the featureless mask. Gouging deep into it, taking pieces of the body with it. Flittering away bit by bit, tiny squares of being wiped from existence. Removed. Pieces of numbers and Strange marks, breaking away. Disappearing into that featureless white. Starting with a finger, gone was an arm, then a leg, eye, rib. A feeling of-   
̶D̡I͟S̛INTE͏G͡RA͘ŢIO͏N͡

Oh Rune. 

Forsaken.

bzzzzzzzzt.

kssst. ksssst. ksssssssssst.

The white.

Single drop of red. 

Blooming, across his vision. Curving, spreading, existing, a mandala of Blood. 

Then came others, blue, orange, yellow, green, magenta, all the hues. Filling in the gory red gaps, spinning slowly. Silence. Spectral hand reaching out, Freedom.   
What were these visions? Other planes, other lines, other worlds? It was upside down.  
It came from him. Splintering out of his cracked chest. A fluttering purple SOUL was just barely visible beneath the shattered porcelain edges. Expanding ever outward as he sank lower and lower into it.  
Among stars, among clouds, among trees, among grass, among ashes, among black mud. 

The sound returned. The colors began to transmute from themselves, becoming darker, grayer with each passing breath. Static cracked the curved sky, clouding it, corrupting it. Sending the pieces away from one another. Like shooting stars, blips in the growing darkness. Glowing radiantly, further and further away. Black crawled forth from the cracks. The soul seizes.

It...Stops.

Can anyone hear me?

Am I...dead?


End file.
